


You're My Medicine (Open Up and Let Me In)

by ratherastory



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Healing Cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1648457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherastory/pseuds/ratherastory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you literally trying to heal me with your dick?"</p><p>"Um." Scott looks a little sheepish. "Maybe?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're My Medicine (Open Up and Let Me In)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very, very belated thing for **ledtoleadlovers** , who has been extremely patient and understanding with me for not being able to produce decent prose worth a damn lately. He asked for Scott taking care of Stiles, so naturally I thought that "healing cock" should be a thing.

  
Stiles is always cold these days. It's not like he’s ever been one of those human furnaces or anything, but at the very least he could maintain a consistent body temperature. Well, it's still consistent, he supposes, just consistently cold. It doesn’t matter how many layers of clothes he piles on, he can’t seem to get warm.

He's got his mom's old electric blanket in the bed with him tonight, the heat cranked up all the way, and even with his comforter wrapped around him like a burrito he's still shivering as if he's got a fever. Looking back, he should have worn more to bed than just a pair of boxers. _It sucks, is what it does_ , he thinks, huddling further under his comforter. Maybe if he added some blankets… but that would mean getting up again, and it's dark and even colder outside his bed. If he gets up now, he'll freeze to death. Okay, maybe that’s a bit melodramatic, but after the year he's had, Stiles figures he's entitled to a little melodrama.

He starts violently at the sound of his window sliding open, and the shock sends tiny pin-pricks of pain shooting up and down his whole body. Stiles groans into his pillow and doesn’t bother pulling his head out from under the bedclothes.

"Fuck off, Derek. I don’t care if the world is ending, I am not getting up for this shit anymore!"

"Dude, why would Derek be climbing in your window?"

Stiles does poke his head out at that. Scott's face is scrunched up in that adorable way it has when he's confused, head tilted to one side. He's crouched next to the bed, one hand resting lightly on the mattress bare inches from Stiles' nose.

"I don’t know, ask him. He’s the one doing it all the time. Why are _you_ climbing in my window?"

The bed dips a little as Scott crawls over him and settles on the mattress behind him, considerately pausing to kick off his shoes onto the floor. "We've been climbing in and out of each other’s windows since we were little kids. I figure, why mess with tradition?"

Stiles pulls the comforter further over his head. "You could have come through the front door. Like a normal person."

"Now you sound like my mother."

Stiles groans. "When did I become the adult in our relationship? Wait, no, don’t answer that."

For a moment the room is silent, punctuated only by the gentle sound of Scott's breathing. He's not even a little bit out of breath after climbing two stories and letting himself in, and for a second Stiles lets himself feel a tiny pang of nostalgia for the old Scott, who'd have been collapsed in a wheezing heap beside him and sucking on his inhaler. He feels a gentle nudge through the comforter, somewhere in the vicinity of his ribs.

"Hey, you okay?" Scott's tone is soft, like Stiles is a little kid, or a scared cat or something. Scott's always had a thing for stray and wounded animals. Stiles thinks maybe he should be insulted, but he’s too cold to care.

"Fine."

"You’re shivering."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. Your keen werewolf senses tell you that, or was it just—hey!" Stiles squawks as Scott pulls a corner of the comforter free, letting the cold air rush into his cozy nest. “Stop that, it's fucking freezing in here!”

"No, it's not,” Scott moves up behind him and pressing his whole length up against Stiles. "Here," he says, sliding an arm up over Stiles' waist and reaching for his bare wrist. "Let me."

The relief is instantaneous. Stiles feels himself go limp as pain he hadn’t even realised he was feeling leaves his body, all his muscles relaxing at once. He can see the veins in Scott's hand go dark, then pale, then dark again as the pain leeches away, and he bites his lip and makes a half-hearted attempt to pull away. Scott’s always felt things more intensely than him, and it's not fair to make him take this on.

"C'mon, Scott, you don’t have to—"

"Shh," Scott murmurs right into his ear. His breath is hot on Stiles' neck, and smells faintly of whatever garlicky dinner Melissa must have fed him earlier tonight. It smells like home, familiar and reassuring, like the smell of his Jeep and his dad's aftershave. "I’m not doing it because I have to, and you know it. Your dad's worried, you know."

It sounds like a non-sequitur, but it doesn't feel like it. Stiles relaxes back against Scott's chest. "You’re a furnace. Is this, like, a freaky werewolf metabolism thing? You know, 'cause it's a good thing to know. For, like, science."

Scott laughs against his neck, and Stiles shivers. "You saying I'm hot?"

"Don’t flatter yourself, McCall," he snorts, but they both know it's a lie.

Now that the pain is being kept at bay, Stiles' dick has taken a sudden interest in the proceedings, the treacherous little bastard. He'd feel worse about it if he couldn't feel Scott behind him, already half-hard. He allows himself a small smile before pushing against him a little, making a show of getting himself more comfortable while rubbing his ass in slow circles against his best friend's erection.

The hitch in Scott's breath is almost reward enough in itself. "No fair," he complains, jabbing Stiles in the ribs.

"You started it."

Scott’s answer is to lean over and kiss him behind his ear. The kiss turns into a bite, a gentle, questioning nibble, and Stiles shudders at the sensation. Scott misinterprets it, though, and stops immediately.

"Sorry, sorry. I—is this okay?"

"For fuck's sake, Scott," Stiles twists a little on himself in order to turn and kiss him. "When has it ever not been okay?"

Scott slides a leg over both of Stiles', the seam of his jeans scraping against Stiles' skin. It's not unpleasant, but it doesn't feel great, either.

"I just thought, you know, because of everything—"

“Stop thinking. It’s really not your strong suit.”

Stiles shifts on the bed, rolling over onto his back and shoving at Scott so he'll straddle him properly. He's not even all that cold anymore, which is awesome. He doesn't remember the last time he didn't feel cold, but Scott has been running several degrees above normal body temperature ever since he became a werewolf, which makes him like a body pillow-sized hot water bottle. Right now, though, cuddling is the last thing on Stiles' mind. He shoves both hands under the hem of Scott's t-shirt and lifts, running his palms over the smooth skin of his chest. Scott's eyes widen a little, but he gets with the program quickly enough, yanking his shirt the rest of the way over his head and nearly poking Stiles in the eye with an elbow in his haste. He wriggles out of his jeans and boxers, getting them tangled around his knees, and for a moment he comes perilously close to falling off the bed entirely, taking the comforter with him.

 _Thank goodness for enhanced werewolf reflexes_ , Stiles thinks wryly as Scott executes a last-minute contortion and manages to get back up without injuring either of them. He's still wearing his socks, but at this point Stiles doesn’t give a damn, wouldn't give a damn if he was wearing a jingly fool's cap on his head just so long as _he gets on with it_ , already.

Then Scott leans over to kiss him so hard that Stiles is pretty sure his lower lip is bleeding, and he stops worrying about how fast Scott is going. Scott's already tugging at the waistband of his boxers, slides them over Stiles' hips and doesn't even wait for him to kick them completely free before sliding his mouth over Stiles' dick like it's the only thing he's ever wanted in life and swallowing.

Stiles isn't entirely sure he didn’t black out for a few seconds there, not that he’ll ever give Scott the satisfaction of telling him that. When his vision clears, Scott is doing fantastic things with his tongue to the underside of Stiles' dick, just the way he's always liked it. He grips the fitted sheet in both hands, feels it come loose as he resists the urge to grab fistfuls of Scott's hair instead. Scott's got both hands on either side of his hips, pinning him down, which is probably a good thing, all things considered.

"Scott, Scott, Scotty, you gotta—" Stiles makes a superhuman effort not to simply let Scott finish what he just started, and Scott pulls off, his lips red and shiny with spit.

"You okay?"

Stiles definitely does not whimper at the loss of contact. "Yeah. Yeah, 'm fine. I want more," he lifts his head and gives Scott the most lascivious grin he can muster.

Scott grins back, then practically dives over him to get to his nightstand drawer to get the lube that's always stashed in there—along with a bunch of other things that guarantee his dad will never ever go poking around in there again after that one time. He squirts it over his hand, then pauses, lube dripping down his fingers in a way that makes Stiles want to grab at him and grind himself onto Scott's fingers until he comes.

"You sure? I mean…"

"Scott, for the love of God, just fuck me already!"

That makes Scott laugh, throwing back his head with a flash of teeth that Stiles tells himself he's only imagining look a little too pointy for comfort. Scott doesn't grow fangs unless he's all wolfed-out, he reminds himself, but his heart speeds up anyway. Scott senses it too, and his laugh turns predatory as he climbs back on top and breaches him with two fingers at once. Stiles freezes, breath catching in his throat, but Scott gives him time to adjust, moving to distract him with a searing kiss. Stiles grabs him by the shoulders, lets his tongue do some metaphorical talking for once, enjoying the feel of Scott's dick pressing up against his thigh, hard and hot and already a little wet just at the tip. He digs his nails in a little, and Scott"s dick twitches, just the way he knew it would, and even though he's in the middle of one of the most memorable kisses he's had in a while, Stiles can’t help but grin. Scott's always been a little predictable, bless him.

"Asshole," Scott murmurs against his lips, and Stiles' grin widens .

"Speaking of which…"

"Classy."

"C’mon, Scotty. Do me."

He meant it to come out sounding a lot more teasing with maybe a touch of seductive, but Scott chooses that moment to crook his fingers just the right way, and so it comes out as more of a desperate moan than anything else. Whatever, he’ll take it, so long as Scott just _hurries the fuck up, already_.

Luckily, Scott doesn’t seem to care what tone he uses. He kisses Stiles again, lining himself up all the while—and it really isn't fair how all the enhanced werewolf coordination is working out so well for him—and pushes in slowly.

"You okay?" he breaks the kiss and cups Stiles' jaw in his hand. Stiles nods, but it’s taking all he has just to keep himself focused. "It's just… you’re not breathing."

All the air comes out of his lungs in a rush once the reminder is there. He gasps and sucks in another breath, makes sure to let it out.

"Breathing. Right."

Scott takes his time with him, giving him plenty of time to get used to the sensation, even if they've done this often enough before that Stiles doesn't really need all that much adjusting, as it were. Scott keeps the pace gentle but not too slow, murmuring things that won't make any sense when Stiles thinks back on them later, but right now they all sound perfect, like his words are meant only for Stiles' ears. Scott is braced on one forearm, the other hand curled around the back of Stiles' head, fingers tangled in his hair, stroking him in counterpoint to his own thrusts. It feels good—more than good, it feels fucking fantastic—safe and warm even as the pleasure mounts in a slow crescendo. There's not even a trace left of the bone-deep cold from before, replaced with Scott’s heat and the soothing tone of his voice, and a doubt springs up immediately in Stiles' mind.

He breaks their rhythm and attempts to glare at Scott, though he’s pretty sure his attempt just failed miserably. "Are you literally trying to heal me with your dick?"

"Um." Scott looks a little sheepish. "Maybe? I mean, not exactly. But, you know," he gives an experimental thrust of his hips that makes Stiles' spine tingle, "I figured the more body contact we have, the better."

Stiles’ heart does a funny thing in his chest, because Scott is looking at him with this soft, fond look, like Stiles is the most precious thing in the world, and he has no idea how to even process that. "Okay, then."

This time he's the one who moves in to kiss Scott, grabbing him by the neck to make sure he doesn't go anywhere, and brings up his legs to lock his ankles at the small of Scott's back. There are a few things Stiles isn’t good at talking about, and all of those are feelings, so he figures that show, don't tell, is a pretty good policy here. Scott is apparently all on board with that plan, and kisses back like Stiles is his only source of air for miles around. He speeds up after that, thrusting harder and harder until Stiles is shaking and writhing under him. He reaches between them with his free hand, wraps it around Stiles' cock, and starts jacking him with a pulling and twisting motion that it took him multiple tries to perfect. Stiles’ vision goes white, eyes rolling back in his head as he comes hard over Scott's hand.

When everything comes back to normal Scott is curled up with one leg draped over both of his. He's not even sweating, damn him, while Stiles is completely drenched and panting. He punches Scott in the arm, just hard enough to elicit a yelp.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You're not even breathing hard, asshole."

"Bonus of being a werewolf. Killer stamina. Hey, at least I won't ever have an asthma attack in the middle of sex again, right?"

Stiles winces at the memory. Trying to get Scott to calm down enough to get them both dressed so they wouldn't have to explain what they were doing to his dad had not even been the worst part of that night.

"You're right, that is a bonus. Plus, the magical healing cock thing, that's a big bonus."

"Big, huh?"

"Shut up," Stiles lets out a breathless laugh. "Yes, fine. Scott, you’re a sex god, jeez. Speaking of which, are you going to get us cleaned up, or just let me lie here in my own spunk?"

Scott snuggles in closer, eyes already closing. "I'm comfy here."

"We're going to end up sticking together, at this rate."

"I don’t care."

Scott yawns and pulls Stiles even closer to him, breathing already evening out into sleep. Stiles figures he should protest, maybe poke Scott until he gets up, but after due consideration, he finds that he doesn't care either.

He and Scott have always been better together, after all.


End file.
